I, like the little mounting lark
Would sing from dawning day to dark ;
When first Aurora faintly gleams,
And flings around her rosy beams,
Sailing the dusky clouds among
She greets her with a mattin song.

And through the fiercest heat of day,
She sings beneath the burning ray,
And when she sips the evening dew,
And bids the setting sun adieu,
A song still swells her speckled breast—
She chants the dying day to rest.

When spring's first modest flow'ret's head
Comes peeping through her grassy bed,
Her shrill, yet sweet, and constant song
Is heard the merry woods among.
Singing she greets the balmy sky.
And meets the vernal breeze on high.

And when the stubble field's laid bare.
And autumn winds the woodlands sere,
Then hov'ring low on wav'ring wings,
A plaintive strain she faintly sings,
In notes more sad, but still as clear—
The requiem of the fading year.